The Place Where I Love You
by SmarticleParticle
Summary: A year after the revolution ends, Katniss and Peeta visit District 11 and the graves of their fellow tributes. One-shot, reviews much appreciated.


**Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hunger Games" or any associated characters. If I did, I would be rich, which I'm not. **

I shield my eyes from the glaring sun as Peeta and I meander through what used to be District 11. I know I shouldn't think like that and stay "stuck in the past," as Plutarch Heavensbee would put it, but the name "New Georgia" doesn't quite fit. For me, this will always be District 11. Nothing Plutarch can say will change that.

"It's so different," Peeta murmurs. He gazes up at the ruins of the Justice Building, currently encased in scaffolding.

I can see what he means. Last time we were here, the district and its inhabitants were crumbling. The fires of rebellion were burning, and the Capitol were losing the battle to extinguish them. Now, after the war is over, the people are repairing what was damaged in their fight for freedom.

Some people, though, will never heal; their losses were too great. I think back two years, to when Peeta and I stood on the edge of a sea of determined faces who clung to the hope that I could bring the rebellion they so desperately wanted.

On the shores of that sea were the people who should have despised me, because I lived and their children didn't. The families of Rue and Thresh stood huddled together as if they were trying to shut out the rest of the world. They looked so hopeless, so broken, but then Peeta changed their lives forever with a gift of more money than they could ever have imagined. I thought the gift was perfect, and I still do now. As I catch hold of his hand and gaze up into his bright blue eyes, Haymitch's words come back to me. "_You could have done a lot worse," _he'd told me. He couldn't have been more right.

"Wait, Peeta. I want to get some flowers," I say as I indicate a small shop at the other side of the square. Outside it, brightly coloured bouquets gleam like jewels, but I have no interest in them. I'm after a particular kind of flower.

Peeta pushes open the door, but I stop dead when the stench hits me. The putrid smell of roses brings back a flood of unwanted memories which I've spent so long hiding away. Peeta gives me a quizzical look before he smells it too, and we turn and hurry out, gagging on the bad air and bad memories.

* * *

"Can you wait here, Peeta?" I ask. I feel terrible about asking him to wait outside the cemetery by himself, but this is something I have to do alone. He didn't know her like I did, and having him there wouldn't feel right.

He smiles, seeming to know what I'm thinking. "Course not. I'll stay right here." He kisses me on the forehead and goes to examine a nearby lupin bush, probably because he wants to paint it later. He paints a lot of flowers these days, especially primroses.

I take a deep breath and turn to face the sprawling cemetery. The Hunger Games section is right at the back, so I have to pass through row after row of broken graves to get to it. I am determined not to let the graves of any of my loved ones get into this condition, but then I suppose the owners of these graves are long forgotten.

I finally reach the special section of the graveyard which was set aside for dead tributes. It is separated by a low brick wall, and two fearsome statues stand like sentries on either side of the entrance, courtesy of the Capitol. They are yet another reminder of how the Capitol had complete control over the districts, even in death. I will have to ask the mayor of District 11, I mean New Georgia, to remove them.

The sight off so many headstones makes me feel sick. I've watched countless District 11 tributes die on television, of course, but seeing all the headstones together makes me realise just how much life was lost, how many families were broken.

I follow a flagstone path to the opposite side of the cemetery, where the tributes from the most recent games are buried. These graves are much cleaner and tidier than the others, and it makes me glad to see that someone still cares for them.

I kneel in front of the first grave with a "74" engraved on it, and immediately notice the carving. It looks like it was done by a visitor—it's certainly not professional. Despite its roughness, the mockingjay is unmistakable.

My eyes fill up with tears. In my first Games, I always thought of Rue's mockingjay as a symbol of innocence and safety. Now, though, they have come to signify rebellion and war, which is the last thing I think of when I think of little Rue.

My fingers brush the spot on my jacket where I used to wear the mockingjay pin. I stopped wearing it after the war ended. I felt like the mockingjay pin no longer reminded me of home, even if it was a gift from Madge. It lost all its personal meaning after the Capitol and the rebels took it and twisted it into something it wasn't, and I no longer want to be associated with that. Perhaps I should start wearing primroses instead.

I should probably say something to Rue, but what? Should I tell her about the revolution and Peeta's gift to her family? No, I decide. I should sing.

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow..."_

The song makes me choke up. As I sing, I close my eyes and try to picture Rue high up in the trees, singing to her mockingjays, but all I see is her body curled around the spear. I drive that vision from my mind only for it to be replaced by an image of her, six feet below me and cold as stone.

I give up on the Valley Song as my voice is little more than a whimper. I glance over at the grave of Rue's fellow tribute, Thresh, who could have easily killed me in the Games. He didn't, though, saying he was sparing me for Rue. I really should have brought some flowers.

I'm about to walk away when a thought occurs to me. I press the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and hold them out to the graves in the hope that it will make up for my cowardice in the flower shop.

"Bye, Rue," I whisper, before turning around and heading back to Peeta.

* * *

**A/N: I had 11 be renamed "New Georgia" because I knew it was somewhere in the South, and Georgia was the first Southern state I thought of, due to my knowledge of American geography being sketchy at best. If you can think of a better name, please tell me :)**


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